


Restrisiko

by Ischa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunken one-night-stand.<br/><i>“No, not people,” Castiel answers. “Only you.”<br/>There are things Dean just doesn't want to know. This is one of those things. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Restrisiko

**Title:** Restrisiko  
 **Pairing:** Dean/ Castiel  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Summary:** Drunken one-night-stand.  
 _“No, not people,” Castiel answers. “Only you.”  
There are things Dean just doesn't want to know. This is one of those things. _  
**Warning(s):** sex, angst  
 **Author’s Notes:** This is a birthday gift for asm_z. The title means: remaining risk.  
 **Word Count:** 1.039  
 **Beta:** sorrydreaming  
 **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real

\--+--  
~+~  
Dean was beyond the point of caring - or standing, for that matter - some seven whisky shots ago. He knows it's one of the dumbest things he's done in a while. When everyone and everything is out to get you, you don't find the nearest bar and drink yourself under the table. Not that he was under the table or anything – yet.

Sometimes it's just good to get away. But what he really means, and has trouble admitting to himself, is that it feels so good to get away from Sam, though that’s not the whole truth either. Sam isn't himself, how could he possibly be when he doesn’t have his soul? Sure, he looks like Sam, he smells like Sam (gunpowder, dust and steel), his voice is the same, but he’s still not Sam. He is so _not_ Sam that Dean can't deal with it at times. He _hates_ that thing that looks like Sam, looks like his brother. This shell...this...

“He's not evil,” Castiel says beside him.

Dean doesn't turn to look at him. “He isn't _not_ evil either.”

Castiel's clothes make a soft noise, not unlike the rustle of feathers, as he sits down.

“It's not his fault he was brought back all...” Castiel hesitates for a second, and Dean finishes with: “Wrong.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, then turns to look at Dean and sighs. “You're drunk.”

“Not nearly drunk enough to stop drinking,” Dean answers.

“Not drunk enough to go back,” Castiel says.

Dean nods and his stomach gives a lurch. Maybe he is drunker than he thought, but he signals to the bartender for another whisky, anyway.

“Listen, smart-ass angel,” Dean says, gulping his drink down the moment it’s set in front of him, “you think you know me, but you have no idea.”

“You came here to get 'wasted,'” Castiel calmly answers, making quote marks with his fingers, and Dean nearly laughs, “and find a girl to have sex with...”

“What, no slang for sex?” Dean interrupts. “No finger quotes? ‘Knock boots?’ ‘Bump uglies?’”.  
He feels surprisingly clear in his head, even if he still doesn’t trust his legs to keep him on his feet.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me what you learned from the pizza guy,” Dean replies.

Castiel makes his thinking face, and Dean nearly laughs again. It's always fun to make Castiel _do_ something, and he's in that perfect state of mind where everything seems like a good idea.

“Well, kissing feels good,” Castiel serenely states.

Dean waves to the bartender. He needs another drink for that, because fuck if that image of Meg and Castiel wasn't hot. If he were a chick, he would say it was the whole forbidden romance thing they have going on, but he wasn’t a chick. He has no clue why it was hot, maybe because Meg is... No, he doesn't really think that... He can’t really _think_ now, period.

“Great discovery. Took you only 2000 years or something. In another 500, maybe you can get someone off...” Dean says.

Castiel gives him a questioning look. Oh, bloody hell, Dean thinks. “We're getting out of here,” he says, getting up. He is not steady on his feet, but he doesn't let Castiel help him until they’re outside the bar.

~+~

“I could show you…,” Dean mumbles. He is leaning on Cas, who feels so warm, safe and _human_. It would be a disastrous idea, in the morning, but for the moment…

“What?” Castiel asks.

“You're so clueless, it's nearly cute...” Dean answers, and then: “Just dump me on the bed, okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, still looking a bit puzzled by him, but Dean figures that's nothing new. He and Cas, well, they have something that could be called friendship, and Dean didn't have many friends. Didn’t try to _make_ friends, either. He has no idea how he became so close to the nerdy angel. Just his luck, he guesses.

~+~

Castiel dumps him on the motel bed and stands there, looking a bit lost. For someone who has a war to win, he seems pretty reluctant to go back. Dean guesses he can't really blame him. All of them get tired sometimes, even angels… _especially_ angels.

“Wanna sleep here?” he asks. He doesn't even know where it comes from. Maybe he just doesn't want to be alone tonight.

“I don't sleep.”

“But you watch people sleeping,” Dean says, turning away from Cas so he doesn't have to look at him while he does what he does. And he has no idea what he is doing.

“No, not people,” Castiel answers. “Only you.”

There are things Dean just doesn't want to know. This is one of those things. It only makes everything more complicated.

“Come here,” he says, his voice too rough.

~+~

Castiel traces the skin over his ribs, and Dean's reminded that Castiel's mark is always inside him, carved into his bones. Burned into his skin.

“Did it hurt?” Castiel asks as he shifts under Dean, the friction is so good Dean can barely handle it. He doesn't think he'll last long.

“What?” he asks, distracted.

“This,” he responds, tracing the hand-print instead.

“No, I don't know...didn't feel...felt too much at the time,” Dean says.

“You're so delicate.”

“Wow, that's what I want to hear...” Dean pants, his hips shifting so their cocks are aligned. It's better that way. So much better. Castiel's breath hitches and his fingers clutch Dean's arms too hard, almost painful. But it's okay because he feels alive, likes that he doesn't need to be careful at all.

“Not _you_...” Cas says. “You as in humanity as a whole...such fragile, breakable things that you are.”

“God, shut up!” Dean answers, preventing Castiel from answering by crushing their lips together.

~+~

He’s falling asleep, his body wrapped around a pillow, with Castiel sitting on the edge of the bed, looking outside into the endless night. Dean really can't muster up the energy to care.

~end~


End file.
